Sara
by LuvvyDuck
Summary: Dr. Sara Bellum's possible life story, telling how she came to work for SHUSH, and then some. Rated K, but later chapters will be rated T. NOTE: THIS STORY MAY OR MAY NOT BE REMOVED SOON, WITH DRAFT SAVED FOR FUTURE USE.
1. If He Really Knew Me

A/N: This story has been revised slightly and re-submitted. To those who gave positive  
reviews the last time: many thanks, and you're welcome to come back. By the way, one  
of my reviewers was right: Gryzlikoff's accent WAS too thick, so I finally remedied that.

* * *

**Sara  
A _Darkwing Duck_ Fanfic**

**By E. Grimes**

_I feel that Dr. Sara Bellum is the unsung heroine of the Darkwing Duck series. For all her ditzy  
behaviour and crazy inventions, Sara means well-and is, in fact, one of the few characters who  
really respects DW and appreciates what he's trying to do. (And after all, how much fun would  
"Disguise the Limit" have been if she hadn't invented that weird ray? Not to mention, that cool  
pie gun that Negaduck "borrows" in "Just Us Justice Ducks"!)_

_Since there seems to be no real background on Sara's life or career, somebody had to remedy  
that. Besides, she represents the sadly underappreciated, often rejected intellectual geek that  
many of us were...so Sara: here's my salute to you, hon! (Note: her first name and "Doctor"  
name are pretty much used interchangeably in this story. E.G.)_

_  
**Disclaimer:** All Darkwing Duck characters proper are © 1991 by Disney. All other characters are  
mine. Please don't use them or this story without, repeat, WITHOUT my permission. If you do, I  
have a certain duck friend who carries a chainsaw... _

* * *

_Chapter I:  
If He Really Knew Me...  
_

"Can't you do _anything _right, Dr. Bellum?" Darkwing snapped at the tall, dark-haired SHUSH scientist.

It had only been the umpteenth time he'd been nearly blown up by one of Dr. Sara Bellum's wild inventions;  
needless to say, Darkwing Duck's nerves were very much on edge.

It hadn't been a good week...not for Darkwing, and certainly not for his family and friends. For openers,  
he and Morgana broke up after an awful fight (which ended with Morg zapping him nearly unconscious).  
As if that hadn't been painful enough, the next day Darkwing (reluctantly) let Gizmoduck help him during a  
hostage standoff at City Hall. In spite of Darkwing's most hazardous efforts, as usual Giz got all the publicity.  
It was more than a "minor setback" for the hero, whose ego was as fragile as it was inflated; so it was no  
surprise that the purple-caped duck was in the ugliest of moods. Launchpad steered shy of Darkwing half  
the time, and for once Gosalyn was careful to be on her best behaviour.

Even some of Darkwing's enemies didn't want to mess with him. The Fearsome Four had learned to back  
off when they saw the angry gleam in Darkwing's eye...once Megavolt made the mistake of crossing his  
path, and Darkwing wasted no time but simply turned a fire hose on him. After recovering from a most  
painful short-circuit, Megavolt crawled over to Quackerjack's hideout.

"Man, that duck is _cheesed!" _Megavolt told his friend, who nodded sorrowfully; he'd had to sew Mr.  
Bananabrain back together after Darkwing got through with him. Negaduck, never one to be sympathetic,  
soon wished he'd kept his distance as well.

"Awwww...whatsa mattah, Dorkwingy?" he had said mockingly, on seeing his enemy's glare. "Not getting  
enough bran for breakfast?"

His usual viscious laughter was quickly choked off by a Quack Fu kick in the gut he hadn't seen coming.  
By the time the red-hatted duck found the strength to go for his chainsaw, Darkwing had long gone.

Unfortunately, even the staff at SHUSH wasn't left unscathed. It would not be pleasant to describe  
Darkwing's encounter with Agent Gryzlikoff, who gave serious thought to "tvist head off fool duck,  
ontil it roll down on floor!" as he angrily told director J. Gander Hooter.

"You'd best leave him alone, Gryzlikoff," sighed Hooter. "Maybe when Dr. Bellum shows him her latest  
new weapon, he'll be himself again.You know how Darkwing is with all our gadgets."

_"Da_...like little boywit' play-toy," the huge agent replied with a smirk.

* * *

As it turned out, Hooter was wrong-not about Darkwing and SHUSH's "play-toys" (Gryzlikoff was  
certainly right about _that_), but about the hero's change of mood. As a matter of fact, his session with  
Dr. Bellum only served to make things worse. 

The SHUSH scientist had just come up with a Bio-Duplicator, which she explained was supposed to  
make a holographic image of anything (or anybody) it was aimed at. The idea was that Darkwing  
could distract any criminals he was fighting with an illusory "clone" of himself, making it easier to bring  
them to justice. It was a brilliant enough concept, but with just one drawback: it didn't work. What was  
worse, instead of duplicating Darkwing, the ray nearly _fried _him.

Launchpad, who had come along with Darkwing, stared uneasily at the burnt feathers and the look of  
outrage on his friend's face.

"Uh...you okay, DW?" he asked nervously.

"No, Launchpad," Darkwing answered through clenched teeth, "I am NOT 'okay'!"

"Oh, dear," Sara sighed, "looks like I can kiss my Nobel prize goodbye..._again."_

Darkwing glared at her. After all his heartache and humiliation that week, being half-cooked was the  
final straw for the masked mallard. His temper quickly exploded...and quite before he realized what  
he was doing, he began venting his anger full force on the bewildered lady scientist.

"Can't you do _anything _right?"

"I certainly _can!"_ shot back Sara , quite taken aback by his remark. She was normally used to Darkwing's  
crankiness (as was anyone who knew him); but today his words seemed unusually hurtful. Sad to say, it  
was only the beginning...

"You know what? I don't think so!" snarled the masked mallard, as he tried to smooth out his singed  
fedora.

"Listen, Darkwing!" Sara blurted indignantly. "I'm doing the very best I can. Can't you see I'm only  
trying to help you? Couldn't you act the least little bit grateful?"

_"Grateful?" _snorted the purple-caped drake. "For almost getting blown up..._again? _I can't believe you're  
working for our side. Are you sure you're not a secret weapon FOWL sent over to kill us all?"

Sara's jaw dropped.

"How _dare_ you say a thing like that to me?" she demanded. Launchpad, always the more sensitive  
of the pair, could certainly see how hurt she was.

"Hey, take it easy, DW," he begged; but Darkwing was too centered on himself to realize the impact of  
his harsh words.

"I mean it!" snapped Darkwing, pointing furiously at Sara. "How did someone like _you_ end up working  
for SHUSH, anyway? They must have been really desperate to hire_ you, _Bellum...because you've got  
to be one of the craziest and _stupidest _people on the planet!"

Sara stared at him, her expression stunned and injured. For some seconds she was speechless, for once.

"You don't know me at all, Darkwing," she said at last, a strange and painful softness in her voice.

She threw down the control for the ray and turned for the door, to find Director Hooter and Agent Gryzlikoff  
standing in the open doorway. They could hear Darkwing raving clear down the hall and had come to see  
what the commotion was.

"Dr. Bellum? Is everything all right?" Hooter asked, seeing the look on Sara's face. The woman scientist's  
eyes went to the floor.

"Please excuse me, gentlemen," she said in a low voice, as she quickly walked out of the lab, avoiding  
the concerned stares of her fellow agents. All eyes were turned now to Darkwing, who suddenly looked  
embarrassed, knowing he had gone too far.

"That was quite out of order, Darkwing," Hooter declared, his voice quiet but his gaze quite stern.

"I _told _ya to take it easy," Launchpad insisted to his friend, who rolled his eyes.

Gryzlikoff said nothing at first; but if a look could have killed, the glare he gave Darkwing would have  
'nuked' him instantly. The large Russian bear then turned indignantly and walked out to look for Dr.  
Bellum.

* * *

When he found her, she was sitting out in a small garden adjacent to the main building. It was a peaceful  
place, set up by Director Hooter as a spot for the agents to unwind from what was often quite stressful  
work. The garden had a mainly Japanese theme, with a little wooden bridge and a koi pond with a fountain.  
Gryzlikoff, ever the workaholic, never felt the need to visit; but Sara loved to go there to collect her thoughts.  
This time, however, it looked as though she were crying, her hands curled around a small, flat object. 

"Doktor Ballum?" the hulking agent said hesitantly. The SHUSH scientist gave a start, then pulled off her  
glasses and turned away to wipe her face.

"Are you okay, Doktor?" Gryzlikoff went on, going up to her and offering his handkerchief. "Do not vorry,  
is clean."

Sara shook her head and smiled a little. "I...I'm all right, Gryzlikoff. Thanks anyway." She looked  
up at him, quite embarrassed. "I didn't want anyone to see me like this, Gryz. I have to be more  
tough than this. After all, I'm a SHUSH agent, not a baby."

"Right...you are not baby. But you are a w_oman_. It is not wrong for women to cry. Zey do not need to be  
tough...we men can be tough for zem."

The scientist raised a slight eyebrow. "Forgive me, Gryz, but that sounds rather sexist."

Gryzlikoff looked startled, then shook his head emphatically. "No, no! Not sexes...we are only friends."

"Um...no, that's not what I meant," Dr. Bellum answered patiently. "I'm just saying you've got some  
very outdated ideas about women."

The huge agent shrugged. "All the zame, you cry if you feel like. Darkwing has done a bad sing to you.  
He should not talk to you like zat. You have done not'ing wrong!"

Sara sighed in despair. "I goofed, Gryzlikoff. I try so hard, but I keep screwing up. And _today," _she  
went on, her voice nearly breaking with emotion. "It's been really rough for me today anyhow, and  
for Darkwing to lash out at me so...I want so to please him; but it just seems a losing battle sometimes.  
What does he want from me?" she asked miserably, more to herself than to her fellow agent.

"Duck does not know. He is littlehead fool. You do good work, Doktor Ballum. We do not mind zat you...  
ah, 'screw op' !"

Then the Russian bear's sharp eyes suddenly caught sight of the object Dr. Bellum was holding; it was  
a teakwood picture frame holding a photograph over a decade old. The photo showed an attractive,  
middle-aged fowl in a sharp suit, and wearing a SHUSH badge on his lapel. Recognizing the figure,  
Gryzlikoff's expression softened.

"Is fifteen year now, Doktor Ballum?" he inquired gently.

The scientist nodded. "Fifteen years ago today...and we still haven't found the rat who did it," she  
said, her tone somewhat bitter now.

Gryzlikoff nodded also, his face solemn. "We find him. One day,we will find him. He has taken away a good  
man, a good agent from us. We will zomeday find zat murderer, and make him _pay!" _he added, his eyes blazing  
with his usual zeal once more as he slammed a large fist into his paw.

"I keep hoping and praying for that day. But it's been so long, sometimes I wonder if we'll _ever _find him,"  
the lady scientist replied sorrowfully. "But I can't give up, Gryzlikoff! I _have _to keep going, even though I  
don't know _myself _why you and James keep me around here. Maybe Darkwing is right..."

The Russian agent shook a large finger at her in a mildly scolding manner. "No. Darkwing is _very_ wrong!  
You know why ve keep you, Doktor Ballum: you care for the work zat we do. We care for _you _too, Doktor.  
_We _are glad you are wit' us...very glad." With a gentleness unusual for him, he took Sara's small ivory hand into  
his huge paw and patted it. "So do not be feelink sad...okay?"

She could not help but smile. "Thank you, Gryzlikoff," she said softly.

He gave her a short but gallant nod and left the garden. Sara watched him leave, grateful that at least her  
co-workers understood her-even if she didn't always understand herself. But that had never really been  
the problem; she had long known what she meant to SHUSH. It had been Darkwing's lack of  
understanding that had hurt her, and she wondered now: what did she mean to _him?_

"If he really knew me," she whispered sadly.

She gently touched the photograph of the long-dead SHUSH agent...someone who had loved her  
more than unconditionally, and had encouraged her through good times and bad. It was thanks to him  
and J. Gander both that Dr. Sara Bellum had become the person she was.

Sighing heavily and putting the photo away, the SHUSH scientist walked back into the main building.  
Meanwhile, however, Agent Gryzlikoff had gone off to look for Darkwing this time...but definitely  
not with sympathy in mind...

End Chapter I


	2. Gone But Never Forgotten

**Sara  
A _Darkwing Duck_ Fanfic**

**By E. Grimes**

_Disclaimer:_ Dr. Sara Bellum and all Darkwing Duck characters are Disney's. The rest of 'em  
are mine. Please don't use them or any of this writing without my permission. _Capisce, _babe?

_Note about the dating: _this story is set in the early 1990's, about the time of the _Darkwing_  
_Duck_ series or afterwards. Sara was likely in her mid to late thirties at the time, so the  
date of her birth is placed in the late 1950's, her father being a Korean War veteran.

Thanks to my kind reviewers...you give me one more reason to face the world every morning!

* * *

_Chapter II:  
Gone...But Never Forgotten  
_

"All right, Darkwing," sighed Hooter as a sullen and very embarrassed Darkwing sat down in the  
director's office. "What was going on in there?"

"Dr. Bellum almost killed me again," Darkwing grumbled, "as you can see from the way I _look!"_

"I'm quite sure killing you wasn't her intention," Hooter said patiently.

"Well, no...but doesn't she _test_ her inventions before trying them out on me?"

_"Always._ And sometimes, they work very well."

"Not _this _time," the duck muttered darkly.

"But that's hardly Dr. Bellum's fault, is it?" Hooter insisted. "She tries her best to improve our weapons; and in fact she's  
been successful a great many times. However, people _do _make mistakes, Darkwing..._you_ in particular should know that, if  
you don't mind my saying so."

As a matter of fact, Darkwing _did _mind Hooter's saying so; but unfortunately, the director had made  
a valid point.

"Dr. Bellum's been working with us for several years now," J. Gander went on. "Longer than you,  
in fact. Much of what has made her a valuable asset to SHUSH is her loyalty to us...her dedication  
to her work, and to our cause for justice." He adjusted his spectacles, and his voice became grave  
as he continued. "And I might add, Dr. Bellum has a certain history with us..."

His speech was interrupted by a dispatch from one of SHUSH's operatives.

_"Report of suspicious activities at a chemical plant outside of St. Canard. Perpetrators not as yet  
fully identified, but may possibly be FOWL agents. Immediate action requested..."_

"Very well. I'll send help right away," replied Hooter.

"You mean you'll send _me!" _put in Darkwing, suddenly perking up-not to mention, he was anxious  
to get away from Hooter's lecturing. _"I'll_ handle this one, J. Gander...no sense endangering any of  
your men!"

But as he ran for the door, he was stopped in his tracks by J. Gander's voice.

"Now just a minute, Darkwing!" Hooter protested. The hero was startled, yet apparently used to the  
tone; and he turned back to J. Gander with a _can we get this over with?_ look on his face.

_"Don't_ think that our discussion is over, Darkwing," the director said sternly. "We'll be speaking of this  
further when you get back."

Darkwing sighed and rolled his eyes impatiently. "Okay, okay...whatever you say, Chief." He gave a  
half-hearted salute and went out the door as quickly as he could.

"I mean it," Hooter muttered after him. Then pressing a button on his intercom, he announced:  
"Attention, Dr. Bellum? Please report to my office as soon as possible..."

_Boy, I really ticked the old guy off this time,_ Darkwing thought moodily as he walked quickly away  
from Hooter's office. He was grateful Launchpad had gone to wait for him in the Thunderquack-he  
didn't need any more I-told-you-so's at this point.

Suddenly, he caught sight of Dr. Bellum coming down the hall. She looked very tired and discouraged;  
her eyes were downcast and her shoulders stooped in a defeated posture. Darkwing gulped; he knew  
it was his fault. Maybe if he tried to talk to her...

"Uh...hey..." he croaked, raising his hand in a sickly attempt at a wave as she passed by him.

But Sara didn't look up or even glance at him, and his heart sank. Hadn't she seen him? Perhaps she had,  
and was just ignoring him. Yeah, that was it. Not that he could _blame _her after the way he'd talked to her...

He felt he should say something, _anything,_ to let her know he really hadn't meant to hurt her. But the  
words stuck in his throat...whether it was his ego or he just felt too ashamed, he wasn't sure. All he  
could do was stand there and watch her until she disappeared behind the door of J. Gander's office.

"Haw, boy," sighed the caped mallard as he walked away. Little did he know that his troubles weren't  
over yet...

* * *

"Are you quite all right, Sara?" Hooter asked kindly. He addressed the SHUSH scientist mainly as 'Dr.  
Bellum' when they were working; but otherwise he also called her by her first name. They had known  
each other long enough that formality was a mere option. It was quite different with the other agents,  
notably the protocol-loving Gryzlikoff. 

Dr. Bellum sighed wearily, a bit embarrassed. "Oh, yes...you shouldn't fuss over me, James. Things  
just got out of sorts over at the lab, that's all."

"You mean _Darkwing_ got out of sorts," Hooter replied with a stiff smile as he poured Sara a cup  
of tea. "We should all be used to his little tantrums by now."

"His tantrums aren't always so 'little'," Dr. Bellum said rather irritably, "and he acted like an absolute  
jackass this time. Did you hear what he said to me?"

"All too clearly," Hooter had to admit. "It was most dreadful, I dare say. He's far from tactful; but I've  
never heard him speak so harshly to you before. I would have reprimanded him for it, but he ran out  
to his assignment before I got that far with him."

"But how could he say such terrible things?" Sara blurted, the hurt obvious in her voice. "Doesn't  
he understand how much I care about his job? Why does he think I work my tailfeathers off to  
perfect all our weapons? Of course," she added quickly, blushing a little, "I'm doing it for SHUSH  
too, James..."

The director smiled a little-Dr. Bellum's feelings about Darkwing weren't as much a secret as  
she wanted to believe. "Well," he explained, "he's really not himself right now...he's had a very  
difficult week. Rather like _you_ have, Sara..."

Sara stared down into her cup; she nodded somberly and her eyes suddenly looked misty, but  
she waved a polite refusal when the director handed her a box of tissues.

"Thank you, James...but I guess I'm too old to cry," she responded sadly.

"We can be too old for a lot of things, my dear," Hooter reminded her gently, "but we can never  
be too old to cry."

Dr. Bellum looked up at these words, and gazed pensively at the director. "I remember you saying  
something like that...a long time ago," she said in a soft voice.

It was J. Gander's turn to look sad. "Yes," he answered, "I did, didn't I?" He glanced down at  
his desk, his thoughts his own. "Fifteen years ago, almost to this very day, in fact...I miss him  
too, Sara. Cyrus was one of our best agents; but more importantly, he was my best friend."

"Will we ever find the man who killed him?" Sara asked, her voice halting a little.

"We have to," Hooter said grimly. "And that is one reason...one of _many_ reasons...that we must  
never give up. And why _you_ must never give up, Sara, even when circumstances demand otherwise.  
You know what you mean to us...and how much we all count on you."

Dr. Bellum smiled; now she _really_ felt like crying. "Thank you," she stammered. Gulping down her  
tea, she rose quickly. "Well," she sighed, "back to work. I have a raygun to repair..."

"You'll get it working, Sara...don't worry," Hooter assured her, as he heartily shook her hand. He  
watched her as she walked back to her lab, her head a little higher and her face a little more hopeful  
now.

But no sooner had Sara left than the director heard some angry male voices out in one of the corridors.  
It was far too obvious who they belonged to; casting a martyred glance up at the ceiling, J. Gander set  
off to deal with the latest crisis.

* * *

Darkwing had been running to the exit when he slammed into what felt like a brick wall. The 'wall'  
turned out be made of dark purple suiting and brown fur, and had a Russian accent...a very angry  
one, for that matter. The duck glared up painfully to find, plainly, that Agent Gryzlikoff had stepped  
out in front of him. 

"What?" snapped Darkwing, as he glowered up into the enraged bear's face.

"What right do you haf, talking to Doktor Ballum that way, you eediot duck!" demanded the Russian agent,  
poking a large finger into Darkwing's chest. "Why do you say such terrible t'ings to her? You hurt her. You  
haf made her _cry!"_

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Now park it over, Gryz; I'm on assignment right now!" Darkwing started to push  
past Gryzlikoff, but a huge hairy paw grabbed the drake by the neck and slammed him up against the wall.

_"You_ zay to _her_ you are sorry!" Gryzlikoff ordered. "You zay it to her _face!" _

"Listen up, you big fat hair ball! I don't have time for this! I'll apologize to her later..."

"You will do it _now,"_ snarled Gryzlikoff, glaring furiously into the hero's eyes.

"Will you _listen_ to me?" Darkwing screeched, as he struggled to get loose. "I'm on _duty, _for crying  
out loud! Just lay off, will you?"

"Let him go, Gryzlikoff," Hooter ordered, as he came upon the scene. "Darkwing is on assignment.  
We'll all settle this matter later on..."

Reluctantly, the agent released his hold. Darkwing couldn't get out of the exit fast enough, as Gryzlikoff  
stood glowering daggers after him.

"Do _not_ forget what I tell you!" he warned the duck, who shot him a look just as he ran out to the  
Thunderquack...to find that Launchpad had been gawking at the whole incident. As Darkwing  
climbed aboard, he held up a warning finger at his sidekick.

"Not _one_ word," he said between his teeth. The pilot nodded meekly and took off.

After they were gone, it was Gryzlikoff's turn to look meek (if one could _call_ it that) as he  
looked down at the director's disapproving glance.

"Am sorry," the Russian agent declared.

"For what you were doing to Darkwing, or merely for being _caught?"_ Hooter asked, his  
eyebrows raised dubiously.

Gryzlikoff rolled his eyes half-innocently and supressed a chuckle. "Do not want to zay."

Well, never mind," J. Gander said. "I believe Dr. Bellum's honour is sufficiently avenged, Gryzlikoff.  
So..." he glanced at his watch. "In keeping with the situation, and the present date, shall we pay a  
visit to the Hall of Remembrance?"

Gryzlikoff sobered up at these words, and nodded heartily. _"Da!_ I had been t'inking of going there.  
It is good dat we go together. Will Doktor Ballum come also?"

Hooter wasn't so sure. "I think she would rather spend time there alone," he answered. "Such a  
thing would best be private for her..."

The Hall of Remembrance was SHUSH's memorial to its fallen agents. Inspired by other such  
memorials as Arlington in Washington and Yad Vashem in Israel, the Hall was fairly large and  
well-decorated. Like the garden, the Hall was a stark contrast to SHUSH headquarters proper.  
The organization's basic colour scheme of dark purple made up much of the decor, but black  
and other simple colours balanced it out. Purple silk draped black and gold-inlaid marble walls,  
on which hung numerous pictures of deceased agents. An eternal flame, set inside a marble slab  
in the middle of the Hall, burned night and day.

Behind the eternal flame stood a monument of polished granite, bearing these words:

__

In Grateful Memory of  
the Men and Women of SHUSH  
Who Bravely Gave Their Lives  
For the Cause of Justice  
They Are Gone...  
But Never Forgotten

No anniversary of an agent's passing was neglected; his or her picture was decorated with flowers  
and white ribbons on that date each year, and candles were lit. Memorial Day was most solemnly  
observed, with classical music and playing of 'Taps'; and the names of all deceased agents sounded  
out like a ghostly roll-call. (There was in fact a private legend that, late at night, their spirits roamed  
the Hall and the headquarters itself...as if still awaiting the call to duty.)

Few of the agents had died natural deaths. Most of them had fallen at the hands of FOWL, or were  
killed by foreign terrorists or such criminals as Negaduck. Occassionally an agent was lucky enough  
to live to old age, yet was still posthumously honoured. The Hall was rarely locked except for dire  
security reasons; otherwise, it was always open for visits both public and private. It was a place of  
special respect and recollection, seeming to carry all the sanctity of a chapel. _This _was the place,  
rather than the garden, where Agent Gryzlikoff went for inspiration.

It was in the Hall of Remembrance that Gryzlikoff's rare sentimentality made itself known. If one  
dared to peek, the normally gruff Russian bear could be seen sniffling and wiping his eyes as he  
studied the faces of his fallen comrades, recalling past assignments with them.

This day would be no exception, the memory of one agent in particular to be held sacred.

The Hall was empty when Hooter and Gryzlikoff walked in; the other agents would assemble for  
a short service in the evening, but the two wanted to pay a private visit to honour their associate.  
And now, Gryzlikoff fought to hold back tears as he and J. Gander lit memorial candles before  
the portrait of a handsome agent in his early forties; he was the same figure in the photograph  
Sara had brought to the garden and kept with her always. A brass plaque beneath the portrait  
read:

__

AGENT CYRUS J. BELLUM  
Killed in the Line of Duty:  
November 30, 1977

"We meet again, old friend," Hooter said in a hushed voice. He and Gryzlikoff were silent for several  
moments.

"Fifteen years," J. Gander finally went on. "Cyrus and I were friends for nearly twice that long. We went  
through all the peril of the Korean War together...only for him to be struck down by the enemy on our own  
soil." He shook his head solemnlyat the tragic irony of the agent's passing.

"Why haf we not found his murderer?" Gryzlikoff asked brokenly. "We haf brought so many evil people to  
justice...yet we haf never found the man who killed Agent Ballum. It is not right, J. Gander!"

"No. It isn't," Hooter said with a certain bitterness. "It's one of the cases that SHUSH has failed so  
long to solve, and one that has haunted Sara most of all: _her own father's murder."_

_

* * *

_

Back in the lab, Dr. Bellum was tinkering around with the Bio-Duplicator-being careful, of course,  
to make sure its power was disabled. But she had no heart for her work at the moment, and finally  
sat down with a heavy sigh.

"Why do I even bother?" she asked herself miserably. Yet deep down, she knew the reason...  
the _real _reason that had driven her to work so hard for SHUSH all those years.

She glanced at the clock: 3:15 pm. At 5 o' clock all the staff of SHUSH would assemble at the  
Hall of Remembrance, to hold a special service for the late Agent Cyrus Bellum. Sara wasn't sure  
whether to be a part of it; as Hooter had guessed, the scientist felt she would rather honour her  
father in private.

Fifteen years ago. It seemed like a dream now.A _nightmare,_ to be precise. It was the years  
before that were the dream; the happy but all too brief life Sara had known with her father...  
before one terrible night that would change her life forever.

End Chapter II


	3. Long Ago and Far Away

**Sara****  
A **_**Darkwing Duck**_** Fanfic**

**By E. Grimes**

Disclaimer: Dr. Sara Bellum and all Darkwing Duck characters are Disney's. All  
the others are mine, so please don't use them or this story without my official OK.

Dr. Sara Bellum and all Darkwing Duck characters are Disney's. Allthe others are mine, so please don't use them or this story without my official OK. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
These next few chapters are obviously going to be 'retro', but hang in there---we'll  
get back to the present at Chapter 6 or 7 and catch up with what everyone's doing.  
I know some of you weren't around during the Korean War of 1950-53 (I grew  
up during the one in Vietnam); so in case you fell asleep during history class---  
or never watched _MASH_ ---I've listed a couple of sources for info down  
at the bottom for anyone who might be confused (wow, _educational_ fanfiction!).  
By the way, I started this third chapter on Veteran's Day, 2004---on purpose.

The Korean War has often been called "The Forgotten War", and with good reason.  
Only recently has it been given a proper memorial up in Washington, D.C. It was a  
horrific tragedy for all involved; among the nearly 4.4 million lives lost, many innocent  
civilians (especially children) were caught up in the midst of its hell. Far too much was  
sacrificed over 51 years ago for too little thanks. At least they admit that it was in _fact_  
a war; I never bought that "police action" myth, and I wish nobody else had, either.

I'd like to dedicate Chapter 3 in memory of my father's buddy: Sgt. Clarence Brown,  
who died heroically at Wonju, Korea...and of all who died in that war and the wars  
to follow. I also dedicate it to my dad, an Army Air Force vet who's shared many  
of his Korean War experiences with me---and whom I hope will write a book one  
day. He's been a live-in "technical advisor" of sorts (not to mention, all those years  
of watching _MASH_ reruns over and over are finally going to pay off). B.O.B.

* * *

_Chapter III  
Long Ago and Far Away _

Korea...July 1953.

The war in that country had been raging for 3 agonizing years, with seemingly no end in sight. It was  
at Panmunjom, near the North Korean border, that a truce had been both discussed and argued for  
several months. It was hoped that the last days of the conflict were finally at hand.

On a hot and humid afternoon, two Army Intelligence officers were riding to Panmunjom on a brief  
assignment. It was to be a simple task of delivering an attaché of important documents; but in wartime  
and in a strange land, nothing was simple---and everything was risky.

The two men were Captains James Gander Hooter and Cyrus Joshua Bellum. They had been friends  
from the very start of their service together; to their fellow officers, it seemed a rather odd pairing, since  
both were as different in their personalities as in their appearance.

Captain Hooter, a British-born officer who had studied at Oxford, was very short with fuzzy brown  
hair. His authoritative and dignified manner well made up for his height, however, and he firmly insisted  
on being called by his proper name _James, _or simply his last name. Rather than go out and "paint the  
town" like his mates, he preferred to read, play parcheesi or listen to music. Highly intelligent with a  
no-nonsense way about him, Hooter seemed a natural leader and so was trusted with the more vital  
assignments.

An obvious contrast was the tall, thin Captain Bellum---or Cyrus, as he preferred to be called. A  
handsome, easygoing fellow who enjoyed a good drink and a good story, he was just as brainy but  
also fascinated with mechanics, and could often be found working on some odd invention or another.  
He cheerfully played the follower to his buddy's "leader", which made them a most effective team.  
Well-meaning but absent-minded at times, he was constantly and testily reminded by Hooter _never_  
to call him "Jimmy". Yet despite both their differences---perhaps even because of them---the two  
were faithful friends.

They had now been on the road for some time, and Cyrus, easily bored, was getting quite restless.

"How much longer till we get there, Jim?" he asked.

"Half an hour, perhaps," was Hooter's reply.

"Can't we stop at a bar or something? I'm dying for a cold beer!"

"There are two full canteens of water in the jeep," Hooter said simply, though he was secretly tempted  
himself.

_"Water?! _Pffffft!" Cyrus answered in disgust. "It goes so lousy with pretzels."

"Cyrus, you know very well we've got important work to do here. We need to think clearly right now;  
and besides, it wouldn't do to meet the staff with alcohol on your breath."

Cyrus shook his head. "Tch...Jimmy, why don't you stop being such an old fogey and cut loose a  
little?"

Hooter slowed the jeep down just long enough to glare at him.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Bellum---"

"I know, I know: 'Don't call me _Jimmy!' _" his partner finished with a mischievous grin. "See, that's  
another thing...why are you so fussy about your name? I don't care if people call me 'Cyrus'---or  
even 'Cy'.

"Well, _Cy, _I simply prefer to be called 'James'. I'm willing to overlook 'Jim'."

Cyrus rolled his eyes. Hooter was simply hopeless.

"Come on...the boys at Panmunjom don't care if we have a drink or not. All they're worried about are  
getting those stupid papers all in one piece!"

"These 'stupid papers', as you call them," Hooter pointed out firmly, "may or may not make some  
difference in this confounded war."

He now had his friend's full attention. "I'd heard talk about a possible ceasefire. You don't think...?"

"I won't say what I think," James said gravely. "Only that I'm ready to see the end of this madness."

"I'll drink to that," Cyrus said with a wry smile, "but _not_ with water..._James."_

Hooter cast him a dubious look. "Maybe _you _should stick to 'Jim'."

Suddenly there was a loud pop---it sounded too much like a shot, and both men automatically ducked  
down. But a sudden lurch of their jeep told them it was only a tire blown out. It was easy to mistake  
sounds in a war-torn area...

"Drat it---not _here_. Not now!" Hooter whispered, careful to keep his voice down. They were  
still in the countryside, a few miles from their destination, and a sniper could be anywhere.

"Cyrus," he continued in the same tone, "get that spare out of the trunk, could you? We've  
got to repair this thing as quickly as possible..."

"Why _me? You _were driving," Cyrus whispered back.

"Well, _you're_ the one who's always wanting to tinker with things! Must we argue about this _now??"_  
hissed his friend with an anxious glance around him.

"Okay, okay," Cyrus replied pleasantly. Keep an eye out, I'll go get it..."

_"You_ keep an eye out, too," Hooter insisted, nervously watching his lanky friend stroll casually over  
to the rear of the jeep. "You're too easy a target!"

He stood by with his M-1 rifle at the ready as he watched Bellum change the tire.

"Would you hurry up, Cy?" he whispered tensely. "Half of North Korea will be on our tail by the  
time you get through with that blasted thing!"

"I'm almost finished!" Cyrus answered a bit irritably. "I could work a lot better if you'd stop  
hovering over me with that rifle. I never liked guns anyway."

"You'd learn to like them if we had to _use_ them," James informed him. "And you should have  
grabbed yours, too."

"It's close enough if I need it. I swear, Jim," Cyrus commented, looking up once at Hooter, "you  
worry too blessed much. You're going to drive yourself into an early grave---"

_"Shhhhhh!"_ Hooter cut him off. "Did you hear something?"

They fell immediately silent, and glanced around them uneasily. At first there seemed to be no sound  
in the surrounding countryside. Then the men thought they heard a slight rustling of leaves; suddenly---

_"Get down!!!" _cried Hooter, shoving his friend to the ground. At the same time, gunfire exploded from  
a thick clump of bushes a few yards away. Several rounds peppered the jeep and punctured the tires.  
Bellum's work had clearly been wasted.

"Get behind the jeep---_hurry!!"_ he told Hooter, as the two frantically began to crawl away. Cyrus had  
reached the other side of the vehicle when he realized James was no longer following. The sound of labored  
breathing and a stifled groan told him why; casting an anxious look over his shoulder, Bellum saw his friend  
lying face down on the ground, bleeding and half-conscious.

_"Jim?? _Oh my God!!"

The snipers had stopped briefly---whether reloading or waiting to get another shot, Cyrus wasn't  
sure, but he wasn't about to leave his friend laying there. Quickly, he went back over to Hooter and  
grabbed him, barely managing to drag him out of the way as the snipers resumed firing. Keeping watch  
for further signs of trouble, he checked his buddy's wounds. They didn't appear to be mortal, but they  
were still quite serious.

"We gotta get out of here, Jim," he said in a trembling voice. "They'll be coming out for us any minute!"

"The...papers..." grunted Hooter. "The papers...don't leave them, Cy..."

_The hell with the papers!_ thought Cyrus. He wasn't normally one to swear, but for now he was more  
concerned with Hooter's safety as well as his own. Yet realizing the sensitive information those papers  
might contain---and which must _not_ fall into enemy hands---Bellum knew what he would have to risk.

Inching carefully up the side of the jeep, he worked his way to the attaché tucked under one of the  
seats. Snatching both it and his rifle, he jumped back down just as the bullets flew again.

"Come on," he told James. "There's some woods not far from here. I'll get you away from those devils!"

Working as quickly as possible, Cyrus wrapped his jacket around Hooter to try to slow the bleeding in  
his side. Then he slung his rifle over his shoulder, and with one arm around his friend and a firm grip on the  
case, he dragged them both as fast and as far from the jeep as he could. When he hoped he was a safe  
enough distance, he slung Hooter over his shoulder and ran---just as a hail of fresh gunfire broke out.

Bellum stumbled as he felt a hard, sharp blow to his head and something warm running down his face;  
with greater desperation now, he struggled on with his double burden until he reached the shelter of  
the forest.

Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, the soldier looked around hastily for a hiding place. He found  
it in a small thicket up the way, well concealed by thick undergrowth. As he started to carry James inside,  
Cyrus noticed with dismay that they had trailed spots of blood behind them---a certain calling card for  
their assailants.

Tucking his wounded partner under the brush, he tied a handkerchief around his bleeding head and  
crept out to kick dirt over the blood spots, hoping it would confuse their pursuers. He barely made it  
back to his friend before distant voices told him the snipers were on their way. Bellum pulled off his  
rifle and laid it close by---though he wasn't sure what good it might do now.

As they approached the forest, he could hear them talking among themselves in Korean. Cyrus wasn't  
as fluent in the language as Hooter, but he understood "kill", "Yank" and "die" all too clearly.

He huddled close to James, trying to stop his friend's own bleeding, and praying that they would not be  
discovered. Then he suddenly remembered: _the papers._ The papers going to Panmunjom would surely  
be lost if he and Jim were found and killed; worse, if the two of them were captured, they would likely  
be tortured for information. Cyrus had even heard of something called "brainwashing"...

_Lord, don't let them find us...get us help somehow,_ he prayed in anguish as he took the papers out of  
the case and prepared to burn them with his cigarette lighter should they be discovered. Just then Hooter  
gave a painful moan, but Cyrus put his hand to his friend's beak before it could get any louder.

_Not now, Jimmy---__**please!! **_he begged silently. His heart pounded wildly as he heard the stirring of leaves,  
and the crunch of tramping feet beginning to break through the forest...any moment, it might be too late.  
Shaking, Bellum picked up his M-1 and held it awkwardly...

_Maybe I'll get one of you guys before you get __**me,**_ he supposed, wondering if he would still have time  
to destroy the papers. Or should he risk everything and destroy them _first?_ His head ached and his mind  
was whirling; he could hear the ominous noises coming closer, and it was all Cyrus could do to keep from  
screaming out loud with terror.

Suddenly, there were other noises, somewhat familiar...of jeep engines and heavy footsteps, and the  
distant hum of helicopter blades. At the sound, the tramping and foreign voices quickly stopped.

Just as quickly afterwards, there came sounds of running---followed by massive gunfire, harsh cries  
and the thud of falling bodies. With all that too near his earshot, Bellum found the impulse to scream  
getting much harder to fight back.

Then for some moments, there was silence...and that was the most terrifying thing of all.

What would happen now? Was it safe to leave? Cyrus gave a worried glance at Hooter, who seemed  
to be getting weaker. Even with the snipers gone, there was no way to get back on the road and find  
help...not before Jim bled to death.

Suddenly, the heavy footfalls were heard again. Had the snipers returned? Or were there others---  
perhaps even the Chinese Army itself? Then Cyrus heard more voices; but now these voices spoke  
English.

"Sergeant? There's some blood over here. Maybe one of 'em ran into the woods and hid..."

_American_ soldiers! Cyrus' heart leapt as he threw down his rifle and rushed out of the thicket---then  
immediately realized his mistake as a group of GIs, alerted by the rustling, whirled around with their  
weapons poised.

_"Don't shoot!!"_ he yelped, scrambling back into the brush and raising his hands high. "Hold your fire---_  
we're_ Americans!"

"Identify yo'self, boy!" ordered a husky sergeant with a thick Southern accent. "Name, rank an' serial  
number!"

"Captain Cyrus J. Bellum, United States Army...uh...Serial No. 1357---oh, never mind, will you?" Cyrus  
blurted. "Captain James Hooter's here with me. We were shot by those guys. Jimmy's hurt, _bad!"_

"Cap'n Bellum?? Yessir! Must be you fellers' jeep we found all shot up back there. Don't you fret none,  
Cap'n---we'll get y'all outta here!"

This time, Cyrus had to hold himself back from crying with relief and joy as he and James were carried  
out. Even the burly dog-faced sergeant was a sight for sore eyes.

"Sergeant Abner Dogwood, at your service, suh!" he said with a grin and a jaunty salute. "I'm right sorry  
we startled you like that, Cap'n Bellum---we thought you were one o' them snipers. Looks like we got  
'em all, though. We'll get you and Cap'n Hooter on the chopper and get ya both patched up---then on  
to Tokyo Gen'ral Hospital."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Cyrus replied, too exhausted to say much else. But his thoughts were now with  
his buddy, and he wondered if help had arrived in time after all...

* * *

Miraculously, Hooter survived the trip to Tokyo. Although Cyrus' injuries were less severe, he had insisted  
on making the trip with his friend. His rank and status gave him reasonable say in that matter; but when he  
also demanded to stay right at James' side until he recovered, the staff was not so inclined to indulge him. 

"You've survived quite an ordeal of your own, sir," an Army nurse told him. "You'll do Captain Hooter  
no favors by risking your health any further."

"I'll be all right," Cyrus replied stubbornly. "After all Jimmy and I went through, you're crazy if you think  
I'm going to leave him!"

The nurse, a second lieutenant, decided to put her profession ahead of protocol. "With all due respect,  
Captain," she said firmly, "you're worn out and recovering from a head wound. You lost some blood  
yourself; either get some rest or I'll have you sedated!"

Cyrus was highly indignant. "Now listen, _Lieutenant..." _He normally wouldn't have cared to pull rank,  
but nothing seemed normal at this point. However, a Major Peregrine happened by and saved him the  
trouble.

"It's all right, Lieutenant; I'll handle it from here. Captain Bellum, I'm ordering you to take some time  
off. There's a hotel near the hospital, and I'll see you get a room. It's either that or be confined to a  
bed _here,"_ Peregrine declared as Cyrus was about to protest.

The tall soldier gave a heavy sigh. "All right...I'll go to the hotel. But please, sir---could someone let  
me know how Jim's doing?"

"Certainly. We're giving him the best of care. And you boys can put yourselves down for a Purple  
Heart---maybe more!" the major replied, smiling.

Bellum could have cared less if it were the Nobel Prize; but he reluctantly let another nurse wheel  
him out to a waiting car, which drove him to the Uguisu Inn nearby.

Shortly after he checked in, he tried to relax. But the day's terrifying incidents kept running through his  
brain, and tired though he was, Cyrus could find no rest. What didn't help was the guilt gnawing at him,  
for he could not shake off the feeling that somehow _he_ was responsible for it all.

_If only I'd hurried up with changing that stupid tire...if I hadn't talked so loud and attracted so much  
attention...if I'd been a little shorter, they might not have seen me..._

_...and we could've gotten away from those snipers in time. Jim would be okay now. What if he __**dies? **__  
It's all __my __fault...**I **got him killed!_

Logic might have told Cyrus that none of those beliefs held any truth; but logic was no match for the "if  
only" demons haunting the exhausted soldier. He remembered seeing a cocktail lounge on the premises,  
and decided a drink---or two---might be just the thing to calm his nerves.

* * *

The semi-darkened lounge had only a few scattered customers when Cyrus crept in. With his eyes mainly  
for an empty spot, he paid little mind to the bartender or to the kimono-clad waitress cleaning a nearby  
table. He was dimly aware of surrounding glances turned in his direction as he walked in; though foreign  
servicemen were hardly strangers to the Tokyo bar. Bellum usually hated being stared at, but for the time  
being he was too tired to care. 

He seated himself at a corner table, where he laid his head in his arms and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure  
whether he had dozed off; but the sound of an Asian voice nearby startled him---the frightening memories  
still fresh on his mind.

"Mariko? Customer!"

It was the bartender, calling to the waitress. Cyrus gave a short, uneasy laugh at his own nervousness and  
rubbed his head. The bullet had only grazed his skull, but had left a painful wound nonetheless. It was  
still quite sore and would be for awhile.

He stiffened as he heard yet another Oriental accent...however, it was the soft voice of a woman.

"So-jah??"

It was Mariko, the waitress. Bellum relaxed a little, but did not look up at her at first.

"Soldier?" she repeated. "You want me to bring you drink?"

"Yes, please. I'd like a whiskey...a _double,"_ he replied, even though the throbbing in his head suggested  
it wouldn't be a good idea. Surprisingly, Mariko stood gazing at him instead of fetching the drink.

"You okay? Your head hurt you?"

"Well...kinda, but I'll be okay. Uh...the drink, Miss?"

But the waitress continued to stare at him. "No," she said at last, in a low voice. "A drink will be not  
good for you."

His tired eyes still not really seeing her, Cyrus frowned a bit. It seemed _everyone_ was telling him what  
was good or bad for him tonight.

"I bring tea...hot food?" suggested Mariko. "It will be better for you."

"Tea's okay, I guess. But I'm not sure I'm hungry," he said hesitantly, although he had in fact not eaten  
for some hours.

Just then, he felt a soft and fragrant hand gently touch his bandaged wound.

"You are tired...you are hurt. You eat, and drink tea. It will make you strong again."

Something in the woman's touch, in her voice, made Bellum look up at her. And for a few seconds  
he forgot everything around him...

A pair of bright, beautiful eyes and a sweet smile greeted him from a small and ivory-feathered face  
haloed with raven hair...the closest thing, Cyrus thought, to seeing an actual angel.

Suddenly, he felt like he had an appetite after all. "Ah...whatever you think is best, Miss..." he  
stammered, his heart beating a little faster as the waitress smiled even more.

"I am Mariko Suzume," she replied. "You may call me Mariko, Captain...?"

Cyrus cleared his throat. "Bellum. Captain Cyrus Bellum...but you can call me Cyrus, if you  
want...Mariko."

Mariko nodded. "It is an honor to meet you, Cyrus. I will get your tea and food now."

She returned some minutes later with a pot of green tea, some hot rice and a bowl of clear soup.  
After Cyrus finished them, he indeed felt much better; but he could not stop worrying about Jim---  
or blaming himself for the day's awful mess. Mariko chose this time to take a break and sat talking  
with the weary soldier.

"You speak pretty good English, Mariko," Cyrus noted, managing a weak half-smile.

Mariko laughed good-naturedly, explaining that she had been born in America. "My mother and I  
came back here to Japan, a few years ago."

But she grew serious as she gazed steadily at Bellum's tired and worried countenance.

"I see when you come here, Cyrus...that there is in your face a great sadness. May I ask, why?"

Her question startled Cyrus, who hadn't planned to talk about his troubles to anyone at first. But  
somehow Mariko's pretty face and gentle voice encouraged him to open his heart just a little. As  
he began to relate the day's traumatic events, he found Mariko surprisingly easy to talk to---even  
though he had never met her before now. Quite before he knew it, Cyrus was pouring out his soul,  
even admitting the fear and guilt that continued to trouble him.

"They made me leave Jim and come here," he added sadly. "I wanted to stay and keep an eye on  
him. I just feel this whole thing is my fault..."

"But it is _not _your fault, Cyrus!" the waitress insisted. "In war, these things happen. The men who hurt  
you and Jim were waiting where you could not see them. And did you not save Jim?"

"He saved _my_ neck first---and got shot doing it," Cyrus said bitterly as he stared down at the table.

"But you helped _him._ You were hurt taking him away; it is not right to blame yourself for what  
those evil men have done. You are a good and brave man, Cyrus..."

At this last remark, Bellum looked up at her in surprise, and his heart almost skipped a beat as Mariko  
lightly touched his hand.

"They are wise to make you go to rest," she continued. "You must take care of yourself, so you may  
take better care of Jim. You are a good friend, Cyrus...you did not leave Jim to die out there. You  
would have given _your_ life to save him...

"He is alive, because of what you have done. Be at peace for your friend now, and pray that all will  
be right."

Her gentle touch and her words seemed as strengthening to Cyrus as the food and tea. He finally did  
smile as he thanked Mariko for her kindness; and it was with a lighter heart that the officer returned  
to his room and slept at last.

He was summoned back to the hospital early next morning; but to his relief the news was good. Jim  
had rallied through the night, though he was still fairly unconscious for the time being. This time, Bellum  
was allowed to sit with him for awhile.

"Jim? Can you hear me?" he asked softly. "They finally let me see you. I'm sorry about what happened  
out there..."

Hooter's silence was uncomfortable; but his spirits lifted by what Mariko had said the night before,  
Cyrus thought of something. Leaning close to his buddy's ear, he said with a sly smile:

"Come on---wake up..._Jimmy."_

He was never more glad to see Hooter's frown. His eyes still shut, the short officer grumbled:

_"Don't_...call...me... 'Jimmy'..."

* * *

Once 'Jimmy' began recovering in earnest, he asked Cyrus about what had occurred the past few  
days; he had drifted in and out of consciousness while being carried to safety, and so the recent  
incident was much of a blur. He was astonished to hear of the incredible risk his friend had  
taken, as well as their timely (if not miraculous) rescue. 

"I certainly never thought you a coward," he told Bellum meekly, "but you showed even more pluck  
than I'd have expected. I'm proud of what you did out there."

Cyrus blushed a little, and lowered his eyes uncomfortably. "I wasn't trying to be a hero."

"Well, you were one anyway," James said firmly. "I'll never forget this, Cyrus...I'll be your friend  
until the day I die."

"Same here," Cyrus answered warmly, as he and Hooter shook hands. "And even after that, Jim..."

* * *

On July 27th 1953, a truce was signed at Panmunjom; and by 10 p.m. the guns on all fronts fell silent.  
For all intents and purposes, the war in Korea was over. 

Capt. Hooter and Capt. Bellum opted to stay in Japan for awhile, even though Hooter at least could  
have been shipped home because of his wounds. Perhaps no one was happier than Cyrus to remain  
in Tokyo, since he and Mariko Suzume had begun spending more time together. James met her soon  
after leaving the hospital, and was touched both by her kindness and the growing devotion between  
Cyrus and herself.

"A most pretty and pleasant creature indeed," he told Bellum later, adding mischievously: "So _this_ is  
why you don't want to leave Japan, eh old boy?"

Cyrus chuckled, quite unable to argue the point. However, some months later both officers were  
indeed ordered stateside. This left Cyrus to make yet another important decision in his life...

One moonlit evening, a few days before he and James were to ship out, Cyrus took Mariko out on  
the town. After a Kabuki play and dinner at a fine restaurant, the young couple strolled through a  
public garden and talked about many things...but mainly about America.

It had only been a few years since Mariko had left the States. Her father had also been a soldier during  
World War II, but had fought for the U.S. Army and died on Omaha Beach. After the war, Mariko had  
returned to Japan with her mother, who was now deceased as well. The bereaved young woman had  
been left to find work where she could...and hopefully, a husband.

After the night Captain Bellum first visited the lounge at Uguisu Inn, Mariko's interest and sympathy  
toward him soon became much more than that. In only the short time she came to know Cyrus, his  
pleasing nature and gentle manner quickly captured the young lady's heart. In turn, she had captured  
his. But now, it seemed to Mariko that she was going to lose her brave and handsome soldier.

And so, tonight---which she was sure might be her last night with Cyrus---Mariko tried to enjoy  
their time together; but she couldn't hold back the heartache that weighed on her. Cyrus could see  
it in her eyes as the two finally sat down under a cherry tree to rest.

"Don't be sad, darling," he said gently, slipping his arm around her delicate shoulders.

"But you are leaving, Cyrus," she answered, with tears in her eyes. "I do not know if we will see  
each other again."

"We will, honey...I promise."

She tried not to look as dubious as she felt; but Mariko knew of other women in her country who  
had heard that promise from soldiers before---and had lived to regret believing it. But Cyrus was  
well aware of the "love 'em, fool 'em and leave 'em" types among his fellows, so he realized  
his sweetheart's concern and quickly proved his intentions honorable.

"Mariko, I'd like to ask you something. Do you miss the States?"

She nodded wistfully. "Yes...even though I love Japan. I hope one day to return, and to see  
my Cyrus again..."

Cyrus tenderly lifted her face to meet his, and stroked her soft dark hair. "What if...what if you _didn't_  
have to wait, Mariko---to go back there?"

She looked up at him, puzzled but somehow hopeful, and watched curiously as Bellum fumbled into his  
Army dress jacket and brought forth a small velvet box. As he opened it, Mariko gasped...

...for inside lay a small diamond ring.

Cyrus drew her close and gazed lovingly into her dark eyes.

"I love you, Mariko...will you come home with me? Will you _marry_ me??"

This time, Mariko's tears were happy as she threw her arms around the young man's neck.

"Ah, Cyrus...yes..._yes!!!"_

Cyrus whooped, and hugged her deliriously. Then jumping up with Mariko's arms still around him,  
he swung around with her until they were both dizzy and fell to the ground, giggling wildly like happy  
children and kissing each other over and over.

"Oh, Mariko, Mariko!" Cyrus exclaimed, as he picked her up at last and laughed boyishly up at the  
stars. "This is the happiest night of my whole life!"

Mariko, both laughing and crying for joy, laid her head against Bellum's heart.

"It is mine, too..." she whispered, as she nuzzled his shoulder.

No more needed to be said as the American soldier and the Japanese maiden embraced and  
kissed beneath the Eastern moon...

A new life was about to begin for Cyrus and Mariko...before long, they would bring another  
new life into the world.

**End Chapter III**

* * *

Hope this wasn't too cheesy for you, my faithful readers. I don't know how soon I'll have Chapter  
4 ready, since I've got some other stories and stuff to work on; but you'll finally get to meet 'Baby'  
Sarah Bellum later on. In the meantime, if you want to learn more about the Korean War, check  
this out: 

_THE FORGOTTEN WAR---America in Korea 1950-1953 by Clay Blair (TIMES Books)_


	4. Daddy's Little Princess

Sara  
A _Darkwing Duck_ Fanfic

By E. Grimes

_  
Disclaimer: Dr. Sara Bellum and all Darkwing Duck characters are Disney's. All  
the others are mine, so please don't use them or this story without my official OK._

_  
Author's Note:_

I often forget that a lot of my fanfic readers are half my age or younger (and some of you might not even know  
what a _record_ is---kidding!), so forgive me if my stories go over the head of anyone who wasn't alive when Elvis  
still was.

About all this retro stuff: what little I know of the Fifties and the early Sixties came from TV shows, some of my  
parents' stories, and history books. I'll try not to make anything here too confusing, but think of this as a quick  
history lesson. You'll be reading about a time when: our fears of what was then Communist Russia had us  
building bomb shelters and blacklisting actors; kids went drag-racing or became beatniks instead of smoking  
crack or shooting up high schools; the name 'James Dean' had nothing to do with sausage, and we had sayings  
like "Duck and cover" and "Better dead than Red"--yet the words _politically_ and _correct_ usually weren't used in  
the same sentence. It seems every era has known its ups and downs.

Note about names: I've stuck with the _Darkwing Duck _tradition of using 'birdy' type names as usual. Mariko's  
maiden name _Suzume_ means "sparrow" in Japanese; _uguisu _means "nightingale", as in the Uguisu Inn where  
Mariko worked and later met Cyrus.

Oh, and by the way: I really did do the dumb thing of mixing acid and sodium bicarbonate in my ninth  
grade science class. My teacher was _not_ amused.

* * *

_**Chapter IV:  
Daddy's Little Princess**_

Cyrus Bellum and Mariko Suzume were married in the spring of 1954, with James Hooter as best man at the  
wedding. After honeymooning in Hawaii, the happy couple moved to a quiet suburb in the city of St. Canard.

Both Cyrus and James had been discharged from the Army by this time; Hooter to continue his work with  
government intelligence, and Bellum to seek a career in science at the local university, as well as a peaceful  
life with his new bride. It must have seemed strange that the two men no longer worked together as they had  
in their Army days; but James understood, knowing Cyrus' love of science and knack for inventions. He could  
also understand his friend's longing for peace.

It seemed that the Korean War had turned Bellum and Hooter each in a different direction. After the frightful  
incident with the snipers, Cyrus decided he'd had enough excitement in his life. He was now anxious to put  
the past behind him and concentrate on the future--to raise a family, and hopefully become a successful  
scientist.

After his own terrifying experience (which in fact might have killed him), Hooter would have been right to feel  
the same way; but surprisingly, it had the opposite effect. The ordeal seemed to have stirred something deep  
in James' psyche, and instead of a life of peace he sought one of even further conflict.

Perhaps with no other goals in mind, intelligence had simply been Hooter's chosen career; or since he was  
still a bachelor, he might have felt free to take on such a dangerous job with no emotional ties holding him  
back. But though he did not say so for the time being, Cyrus felt that James had taken his pain and trauma  
from the war and found catharsis for them in his work--his way of getting back at 'the enemy'.

It could have even been all those reasons; whatever the case, Hooter did not blame his former associate for  
choosing a different path.

"But I can't say I won't miss our working together, Cy," he admitted. "You were the best partner I'd ever  
had."

"We'll always be friends, Jim," Cyrus assured him. "Nothing will ever change that."

"You are most welcome to visit with us, James," Mariko put in kindly. "And _you_ will find a wife too...yes?"

Hooter laughed. "Well, I'm married to my job for the time being, Mrs. Bellum; but thank you. I'll be quite  
happy to stop by whenever I can."

"And who knows?" Cyrus added, laughing also. "If _my_ job works out okay, maybe I'll invent some kind of  
secret weapon for you guys!"

He had meant it as a joke...but in time it would become a prophecy.

It was the era of the Cold War, when a thing called _Communism_ had been spreading throughout the world  
during the past few decades. The end of World War II had given birth to powerful weapons capable of terrible  
destruction and loss of life; and it was now feared that certain foreign powers would get their hands on these  
weapons, and put an end to the free world once and for all.

With this great concern in mind, a secret organization had recently been formed: the Special Headquarters  
for the Universal Safety of Humanity, known more commonly as _SHUSH._ Its director, Frank J. Quill, was a  
World War II veteran who had done espionage work in Europe and parts of the Pacific. Seeking out men and  
women with even the least useful skills, Quill gathered recruits from all over the world to be trained as SHUSH  
agents, with special attention to those who had worked with military intelligence. James Hooter was among  
these.

Director Quill had examined Hooter's Army record as well as that of Cyrus Bellum. Taking note of both men's  
work histories and Bellum's education in science, Quill summoned Hooter to his office in early April of 1955.  
It was Quill's intention that James could talk his friend into joining the organization; the agent wasn't so sure  
of the idea, however.

"Sir, it's not that I _wouldn't_ like working with Cyrus again," Hooter admitted. "But I feel we'd be rudely  
disrupting his life at this point. Besides, I'm not sure that he'd care to go back to his old profession."

"Well, nobody's twisting his arm, Agent Hooter," answered Quill. "But what I've read of his record--and  
what you've told me so far--makes me feel that Bellum would be quite useful to us. Surely you could  
convince him to come aboard?"

"I don't know, sir. That sniper affair had Cyrus quite shaken up...I think he just wishes to live his life  
and be left in peace."

The director frowned uncertainly. "That's quite understandable, Hooter; but he'd only have to work in our  
labs. We wouldn't send him out with our other agents except in extreme cases..."

"Director Quill, I'm just not sure about this," James said anxiously. "After all, he's recently been married,  
and soon to be a father. With all due respect, can't this wait a while?"

"Look, just _talk_ to Bellum," Quill insisted. "If he won't do it, we'll see if we can get someone else. But talk  
to him, as soon as you're able. He'll be well paid, after all--I should think _that_ might convince him, seeing  
as he'll have a family to support."

"Very well, sir," sighed Hooter.

* * *

Bellum had already earned a degree in Science before the war, but he continued his studies and experiments at  
the University all the same. By the spring of 1955, he had begun to teach science himself--with often hysterical  
results.

"See, kids?_ That's_ why we don't mix hydrochloric acid _and_ bicarbonate of soda!" remarked Cyrus, laughing  
as he helped his students clean up a messy but harmless chemistry goof.

"Then why did you _tell_ us to do it, Mr. Bellum?" asked an astonished young man.

"It's learning by experience, Marty," explained the tall scientist. "Many great discoveries were made by  
accident."

Unfortunately, Dean Sharpbill walked in that moment and frowned stiffly.

"Well, if that's true, Bellum, then you're a regular Marco Polo!" he snapped._ "Now_ what crazy stunt have  
you been cooking up?"

Cyrus cleared his throat, quite embarrassed. "Uh...we're just learning about acids and bases today, Mr.  
Sharpbill," he replied sheepishly. "We were working with some litmus paper, you know, and some of us  
got a little curious..."

"I don't want to hear any more," the dean retorted, shaking his head. "I just wonder, Bellum, if you're  
really taking your work _seriously."_

Cyrus was an easygoing man, but he did not take the remark lightly.

"I most certainly am, Mr. Sharpbill," he answered with quiet indignation. "I'm only showing these young  
people that science doesn't have to be boring."

Sharpbill blinked, then threw up his hands. "Fine! But as a special favor, don't blow up the place, will you?"  
He walked out in disgust, as Cyrus turned back to his students with a sigh of relief.

"Don't let that old coot get you down, Mr. Bellum," said Marty. "I _hated_ science till you started teaching  
here!"

The scientist smiled meekly. "Thanks. But 'that old coot' is paying my salary, and with a kid on the way  
I'll need the extra money!"

After class, he was quietly grading papers when a familiar voice broke the silence.

"Don't work yourself to death, old chap."

Cyrus looked up in surprise to find James standing in the doorway, wearing a dark purple suit and  
a mischievous smirk.

_"Jim!_ Haven't seen you in ages, you rascal!" Bellum exclaimed, jumping up and nearly shaking his  
friend's hand off. "Where've you been all this time?"

"Oh...here, there, everywhere, Hooter replied casually, though with a certain evasiveness. "The _usual_  
business."

Cyrus shook his head with a chuckle. "Oh, I get it: you're 'not at liberty to say', right? Sometimes I  
forget _I _used to work with intelligence."

"Well, _I_ haven't forgotten," James said pleasantly, "though I don't know whose job is more dangerous,  
Cyrus--mine or yours. I just heard about all that fun in your lab; is that what _normally_ goes on in science  
class?"

"Since _I_ got here, anyway," Bellum answered with a wry smile, "as Dean Sharpbill will tell you."

"Still the braniac, are you? Your fantastic inventions, and all that?" Hooter asked.

"Still at it, Jim. I've even got a lab set up in my basement, and I'm always working on something. I spend  
too _much_ time there, I guess," he admitted. "Mariko came down the other morning and found me asleep  
at my work table."

James nodded thoughtfully. "Then I take it you're quite serious in your line of work, old friend."

Cyrus glanced at him curiously; Hooter had shown a subtle but odd interest in the subject ever since it'd  
been brought up. Seeing the puzzled look on the scientist's face, James quickly changed the subject.

"How _is_ Mariko, by the way?" he asked.

"She's doing great, Jim. The baby's due any day now," Cyrus said proudly. "Mariko's so sure we're having  
a little girl; we've almost picked her name, too."

"I'm glad to hear it. Might Mrs. Bellum be up to visiting, if I've any time to stop by?" Hooter suggested  
tactfully. "I won't be but a short time."

Cyrus laughed. "Why Jim, you don't even _have_ to ask! We've missed you like crazy, it's been so long. In  
fact, why don't you come on home with me? I've got a little more to take care of here, but I'll be through  
in half an hour."

James nodded eagerly. "Splendid! I'll just have a stroll about the campus in the meantime..."

But no sooner had he left Cyrus' class than he headed straight for Dean Sharpbill's office, and spoke  
with the dean briefly about Bellum's activities.

"Honestly, I don't know _why_ I keep him on the faculty!" declared Sharpbill. "Except that our science  
students' grades _have_ improved since he came..."

"So, he's quite the busy fellow? Always inventing some little gadget or other?" Hooter wanted to know.  
The dean rolled his eyes wearily.

_"Lots_ of crazy inventions! It wouldn't surprise me a bit if he taught the students to make an _atom_ bomb!"  
he snapped.

Hooter burst out laughing at the very idea, and Sharpbill stared dubiously.

"If I may ask, Mr. Hooter...why are _you_ so interested in Bellum, anyway? Is he in some kind of trouble?"  
He leaned forward excitedly, shamelessly delighted at the prospect. "You think he might be a _Communist_,  
don't you? You're from the FBI or something, and you're _investigating_ him!"

Hooter frowned sternly.

"Most assuredly not. My interest in your science instructor hasn't a thing to do with that, Mr. Sharpbill--and  
that's all I intend to tell you."

He walked abruptly out of the office, leaving the dean to think what he might. But as he was on his way to  
Cyrus' classroom, he caught sight of the scientist running frantically down the hall toward him. Wild-eyed  
and out of breath, Bellum grabbed Hooter's shoulders, almost knocking him down.

"Jimmy--Jim...Ma...Ma...she..." he panted.

"Cyrus? For heaven's sake, take a breath and calm down, dear boy! What's the matter?"

Cyrus took a gulp of air and the words tumbled out.

_"Mariko's gone into labor!"_ he stammered. "She just phoned! I've got to get her to the hospital..."

"My word, Cyrus! But don't worry; I'll call an ambulance for her, and we'll meet her there. But you'd better  
come along in _my_ car...you'll have a bloody wreck if you try to drive in _that_ condition!"

* * *

Fortunately, both parents made it to St. Canard General Hospital in time. Cyrus clung to Mariko's hand as  
they wheeled her through the maternity ward, but when they reached the delivery room a nurse chased him  
out.

"I'm sorry, sir," she insisted firmly, "but only medical staff can be here. We'll call you just as soon as the  
baby's born."

"You're kidding me--" argued Cyrus; but he could see it was a lost cause. And so the worried scientist spent  
the next harrowing hours pacing back and forth in the waiting room, while Hooter watched him anxiously.

"I'm getting dizzy watching you," he said. "Do sit down before you wear a hole in the floor, won't you?"

Bellum shook his head. "Jim, I can't sit down. I wish they'd let me be with her...what if something happens?"

"She'll be all right, Cy. Mariko's a strong woman." James glanced down at his watch and frowned. "I need to  
step out for a bit, if you don't mind...?"

"No, Jim! _Please_ don't leave!" Cyrus begged nervously. "I'm about to go crazy waiting like this!"

James sighed patiently. "Now, now, Cyrus!" he urged his friend as he all but pushed him to the settee.  
"I'll be back in a few minutes. If you can handle a gang of Korean snipers, you're brave enough for _this!"_

Grinning as Cyrus rolled his eyes in reply, Hooter exited the waiting room and walked quickly to a phone  
booth, and dialed up Director Quill.

"Hello, sir? Agent Hooter speaking. Yes sir, I know I should have contacted you earlier. I'm afraid there were  
some...er, complications with my former associate. No, sir, I haven't had the chance to speak to him about  
the matter. I'm afraid now might not be a good time..." He glanced up suddenly as he heard a baby's cry and  
Cyrus yelping. "Correction, sir: now would _definitely_ not be a good time."

Promising to discuss 'the matter' with the scientist later on, James hung up and rejoined his friend. The nurse  
who had barred Cyrus from the delivery room now stood smiling as she handed him the baby.

"It's a _girl_, Jim! It's a girl!" he said, laughing with delirious joy as he cradled the wailing infant. The moment  
she was in her father's arms, the baby stopped crying and gazed up at his face. She looked very much like  
her mother, with her ivory feathers and soft black hair, and features much like Mariko's. In time, however, she  
would also take after her scientist father--and in more ways than one.

"Isn't she beautiful, Jim?" Cyrus said, his voice almost breaking with emotion, as though he could not believe  
his good fortune. James smiled warmly at both the infant and his friend's happiness.

"A beautiful little thing, indeed," he declared. But he was quite startled when his friend handed _him_ the baby.

"Come on, Jim--just hold her for a minute. She's so _teeny!"_

"But--but what if I _drop_ her?" stammered James, who had never held a baby in all his life. Cyrus laughed,  
and showed him how to hold the child properly. Hooter, finally comfortable, chuckled as the baby looked  
up at him curiously with her dark, bright eyes.

"Welcome to our world, little lady," he said, never dreaming for a moment that he was holding SHUSH's  
future Head of Research.

* * *

Understandably, James took a rain check on his scheduled visit, but made a brief stop at Mariko's room  
to wish the new mother well and bring her some flowers, promising to see the three of them again as soon  
as he could. Meanwhile, he had to return to SHUSH headquarters and meet with Director Quill, and so the  
Bellums were alone now with their new daughter.

"What name will we give her, Cyrus?" Mariko asked, smiling tenderly as she gathered the baby in her arms.

"I'd thought about _Sara,_" suggested her husband. "It was my grandmother's name; and in Hebrew it means  
'princess'."

"It is a beautiful name," Mariko said with delight as she nuzzled her infant's raven curls. "Little Princess Sara..."

Cyrus, his happiness now complete, embraced his wife and kissed Sara's fluffy head.

"That's just what you are, honey," he whispered lovingly to the baby. "Our little princess..."

* * *

"It simply _isn't_ the right time, Director Quill," James insisted. "Can't we train some other scientist as a  
SHUSH agent?"

"I suppose we'll have to," Quill said testily. "But I intend to bring this matter up again in the near future,  
Agent Hooter. I feel very strongly that Bellum is the man for the job."

Hooter nodded, though relieved for his friend's sake. "Well, perhaps when Sara is a little older? Cyrus might  
feel more comfortable with the idea then."

"I should hope so, Hooter. Only time will tell..."

* * *

Little Sara was quite small at first, and as delicate as a doll; but she quickly became strong and healthy. Her  
parents could never have guessed that later on their "little princess" would inherit Cyrus' growth spurt. As the  
child's mind developed quickly, it would soon be obvious that she had also picked up her father's interest in  
science and inventions--not to mention his eccentric IQ.

One of Sara's favorite toys was a set of building blocks Hooter had given her for her first birthday. It was thought  
that she would be spelling with them when she had grown a little more, so naturally her parents were startled  
when--at only thirteen months--Sara spelled out _C-A-T_ with the blocks. She would be spelling much longer and  
harder words in the next few months, and by the age of 2 she was actually beginning to read.

"My little princess is _so_ smart!" Cyrus told James proudly, as the two friends sat drinking coffee one evening in  
the scientist's basement lab. He was holding little Sara, who stared wonderingly at all the equipment and jabbered  
excitedly about every little object. "That's right, sweetheart--these are your daddy's 'toys'. And someday, _you'll_  
get to play with them, too!"

Hooter laughed. "We've a little scientist in the making, eh?"

Cyrus grinned and kissed his daughter. "I think so, Jim. She's so curious about everything, and asks so many  
questions. And the way she's talking! Yesterday she _actually _said 'nuclear proliferation'--and quite  
clearly, too! I've a feeling she's going to follow her daddy's footsteps..."

James listened intently as Cyrus bragged on about Sara, but his mind was only halfway on the conversation--  
for Director Quill had asked him once more to talk to Bellum about working for SHUSH, and he had spent all  
evening trying to think of the right words to say. At one point Cyrus stopped talking and gave his friend a curious  
glance.

"Uh...Jim? You're spilling coffee on your suit."

"What? Oh!" Startled out of his thoughts, Hooter quickly balanced his cup and drank the rest of his coffee,  
as Cyrus shook his head. He hadn't failed to notice the agent's pensive mood--nor had he forgotten Hooter's  
sudden and strange curiosity about his work that other time.

"Well, I'll be right back--it's past Sara's bedtime. Come on, sweetheart," he told his daughter as he carried her  
upstairs.

"Night-night, Daddy," she replied, hugging and kissing him.

James, alone for the moment, glanced around at the home-made lab and sighed heavily. _This won't be easy, _he  
mused. He was so deep in thought that he jumped at the sound of Cyrus's voice.

"Okay, Jim. What's going on?"

"Er...what?"

Cyrus sat down with a knowing smile. "Now come on, Jim--you were pretty quiet all through dinner. I've a  
feeling you didn't come here tonight just because you like Mariko's cooking."

Hooter bit his bottom beak, and sighed again as he glanced up at Cyrus. "No," he answered, "I didn't. I  
came here because I've been asked to speak to you..."

* * *

"SHUSH wants _me?"_ was Bellum's stunned reply. "For Pete's sake, I'm no Einstein!"

"Well, you're not the imbecile either, Cy," Hooter pointed out. "Director Quill said he's looked over your  
military record and your education, and he's sure you're the best man for our Research Department."

"That explains why you acted so funny when you came to see me at the university," was Cyrus's bewildered  
comment, "and why you were asking so much about my work. Those people want to use me, and they've  
sent you to sign me up."

James' heart sank, for Cyrus sounded as if he felt betrayed. The SHUSH agent had worried, in fact, that he  
_was_ betraying his former partner in some manner.

"I was afraid you might feel this way, dear friend," he said in a low voice. "But believe me, none of this was  
_my_ doing."

"I'm not blaming you, old buddy," Bellum assured him. "But don't they understand I don't want any more to  
do with this kind of thing? That 'cloak-and-dagger' stuff may be _your_ cup of tea, Jim, but I've had enough of it."

"I tried to _make_ them understand. I even tried to talk them out of hiring you."

Bellum raised an eyebrow and gave a slight chuckle. "Was I _that_ big a pest in the Army, Jim?"

"Oh, perish the thought! But obviously, we had different ideas of what we wanted out of life. You wanted  
a peaceful life with a family, Cy. Not a thing wrong with that."

The tall scientist looked solemnly at Hooter. "And what did _you_ want, Jim?" he asked quietly. "You seemed  
to want the very opposite of that. I've never asked you why, but...I _have_ wondered about it, Jim, and I've even  
thought that the war might have had something to do with it."

It was now Hooter's turn to look solemn. He did not answer at first, but got up and walked slowly over to  
the basement window, where he stood gazing up at the dimly lit street.

"I've often asked _myself_ why," he said at last. "But I suppose the war _did _have something to do with it...  
the war, and our run-in with those damnable snipers. That affected us both quite deeply, Cyrus. Yet this  
isn't the first time I have seen--nor experienced--what war can do to people.

"I was never quite able to talk about that, even with you," he explained as Bellum gave him a startled glance.  
One day I may tell you, Cyrus; but suffice it to say that I have never blamed you for wanting to change your  
way of life. If anything, I envied you, because you were _able_ to do that. A part of myself simply could not settle  
down and find peace as you have; instead, I had to keep _fighting_...fighting against the injustice of this world."

Cyrus listened in stunned silence, realizing that his guess had been right: Hooter _had_ been trying to get back  
at the enemy, and was still trying. The peace that the scientist valued so much had been denied his friend. And  
as before, _everything_ they valued--peace, freedom, faith and family--was being threatened by forces that cared  
nothing for those things.

He stared down the floor as Hooter cleared his throat and turned back to him.

"Well, never mind that, Cyrus," he said brightly, patting the scientist's shoulder. "Life goes on. Anyway, I simply  
must be going; tell Mariko many thanks."

"Jim, you don't have to leave--"

"Even spies have to sleep sometime, old boy," James declared. "But let's get together again soon, shall we?"

Cyrus nodded, still thinking of all that James had said. But as the agent opened the door, Bellum stood up.  
"Jim?"

"Hm?"

"What exactly would they want from me? Those SHUSH people?" he asked anxiously.

"Quill insists you won't have to do anything but work for the lab," James recalled. "I don't know if it'd be quite  
that different from the work you do now--though you'd certainly make more money."

Bellum looked down at his lab table, his thoughts his own.

"Let me think it over for a few days, Jim. All right?"

James nodded with a sympathetic smile, and quietly left.

Shortly after Hooter had gone, Cyrus went to check on little Sara, who had fallen asleep. He stood by her crib,  
gazing down at his baby in the soft moonlight. Mariko came and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Will you come to bed, Cyrus?" she asked. He nodded, as he took Sara's hand. Even in her sleep, her fingers  
curled around his.

"Just look at her, Mariko. She's so peaceful and happy...so innocent of the world and all its troubles. It's a  
shame we can't all grow up that way."

"What's wrong, honey?" Mariko asked gently, seeing the sadness in her husband's face.

Cyrus looked up at her with a tired smile. "Let's just say...I thank God more than ever that I have the two  
of you."

Mariko embraced him and they kissed each other; then the couple went on to bed. But Cyrus could not sleep,  
his mind heavy with all that James had told him. After a few minutes, the scientist left the room and returned  
with Sara, putting her in the bed next to Mariko. As he lay with his arms around them both, his friend's words  
continued to run through his thoughts...

_"...I had to keep fighting...fighting against the injustice of this world."_

Praying that he might make the right decision, Bellum looked down at his sleeping wife and baby. Sometimes  
one _had_ to fight for what mattered the most.

Holding Mariko and little Sara close to him, Cyrus fell asleep at last.

END CHAPTER IV

* * *

It looks as if Hooter's keeping a little secret about his life, doesn't it? What is it? You'll find out later, either here or  
in a later installment of "Changing of the Guard", which is SORT of a sequel to this story.

Meanwhile: YAY, I finally finished this chapter! "Where's Chapter FIVE?" Aw, shuddup! LOL, just kidding! But  
seriously, I am SO swamped with schoolwork and all, so please, please, PLEASE be patient. Thanks!


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